


Of things lost and forgotten

by Ginger_Shark01



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, F/M, Loss of Control, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sex, Torture, Violence, War, Westeros, Ygritte didn't die, Ygritte loves Jon Snow, red wedding never happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginger_Shark01/pseuds/Ginger_Shark01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you know the true meaning of pain?</p><p>Alternate Universe - Joffrey and shit is still going on in the capitol, Robb marries Talisa, not Jeyne, and Ygritte doesn't die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jon Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! This is my first story, so be nice!!  
> I do not own Game of Thrones or any of the characters, insert more legal shit here.  
> I really wanted to write this story and share it with the world!!  
> This story isn't for people who can stand sex, rape, gore, violence, etc...  
> But HEY!! If you're reading this, you most likely watch Game of Thrones anyway, so you should be used to it.  
> So:  
> If you can't watch Game of Thrones, don't read this.

The man in black walked towards the tower. Reports from all over the land had been coming in and none of it looked good. The only reason the watch was interested was because the tower was near them, or so they told him. The man walked up to the tower. It didn’t look like it belonged, with the grass hills and the pine in front of him and the wall and the endless snow behind. The tower belonged in the middle of a lake, surrounded by fog, like in the stories he would listen too with Bran. He gripped his sword and sheathed it. This wasn’t right. Why would they send him here? It was just so… deserted. You couldn’t run anywhere and there wasn’t a building in sight, save for the wall; but that was thousands of feet away!! So, the raven-haired man continued to walk to the tower. Nothing moved, and you couldn’t hear anything but the soft pat of his feet against the dewy grass. ‘That’s odd’, he thought, ‘it’s not the mornin’ no more’. But he did not stop, and the world was still quiet. Then it was broken. The man turned around to his horse that had whinnied and ran away. He couldn’t leave now even if he wanted to. He could only hope that his horse got back to his brothers and they would look for him. And then, the world was quiet again. He turned around, and continued to walk, sword in hand to the tower.  
He was a looker; girls swooning all over him, until they found out he was a bastard. Any man could tell he was from the north, with the traditional northern look; hair that shamed the wings of a raven, pale skin that was covered in scars from battles, and cold, grey eyes that betrayed nothing to what he was thinking. Yes, he was a bastard, but a high born one, and was often shunned for his father’s mistake. His father’s betrayal to his wife to a common whore, but whoever she was, he did not look like her. He was northern throughout.  
He reached out and slowly pushed open the door, but found that he needed to put all his weight behind it to push it open. The door was stiff and heavy; it could withstand many an arrow. He took a look into the darkness of the tower. He shouldn’t be here, but the commander asked it of him, and his horse was gone. If he tried to leave now, he would be captured and beheaded as a deserter. He had no choice, and so he stepped into the dark abyss. He really should’ve thought this through, ‘huh’, he thought. ‘I really _do_ know nothing’. Thinking that thought made him think of red hair, kissed by fire. But she was beyond the wall, and he betrayed her. He wouldn’t ever see her again. He silently cursed himself, ‘don’t think these thoughts, Snow, she’s gone and you have to move on’.  
He was standing in the middle of the tower. It was dark, and clouds were forming in the sky. He really should’ve seen it coming. It was _right_ there, staring him in the face. He was just too stupid to see it.  
The arrow went through his shoulder. He gave a grunt of pain, but the next attack had already started. The sword seemed to come from nowhere, and he barely had time to bring his up to meet it, but another was at his back. He thrust his sword into its face, and swung around to meet the next blow, but he could feel another to his left, and put his sword through its stomach. He immediately drew out and slashed another’s skin. He turned and met another’s blade; the loud clash of the sword seemed loud enough to reach Winterfell. It made his ears ring, and his slight hesitation was met with a dagger to his side. He groaned in pain, and slashed its throat. He landed another blow on another’s torso, and it was then that he realised how wet he was. He liked his lips, and was met with the familiar tang of sweat, and the bitterness of blood. Another arrow landed in his thigh, and he fell to his knees, and slashed out at their legs. Longclaw was sharp, and he heard the screams of men and their bodies falling to the ground. A sword met his back, and he fell to the ground. His sword was still gripped in his hand, and he reached to par another’s blow away, but the force was too much, and Longclaw was thrown from his grip. He tried to reach for it, but another arrow went through his back and hit his shoulder blade, smashing the bone and lodging itself into him. He had never felt so much pain. He expected more blows to come, but was met with the voice of a woman, and as she told the people attacking him to stop, a man with a torch came in. It was then that he could see how wet with blood he was. He was covered with it from head to toe. He could see the arrow head that had come out from the other side. It went through his muscle, and it fucking hurt. And it was red. There was just red _everywhere_. He had never felt so sick of the colour in his life, and seeing the woman was only making it worse. She had red hair, she wore red clothes, her lips were red, and her bare feet were splashing in blood. Their blood. _His_ blood.  
She bent down to look him in the eye. She reached out her hand and touched his face.  
“Who are you?” he asked, and smiled at him with her perfect teeth and her bloody lips.  
“That is none of your matter. You are here, because you have something that I want.” her voice sounded like honey, it was smooth and looked sweet, but he was no fool.  
“What do you want?” he wanted to grimace at how cliché he sounded, but he would not show weakness to this woman, to the lady in red. But she just smiled and threw her head back and laughed, and when she stopped, she looked at him in the eyes. The torch made them look like glistening red rubies.  
“You know _nothing_ , Jon Snow”  
She started mumbling, and a pain so unreal surged through his body. It took up his entire existence. He had never felt so much pain. But he would soon realise that he, truly, knew nothing.


	2. Ygritte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ygritte regrets what choices she made, and tries to set it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, humans!!
> 
> So, I planned to post this on SUNDAY (Thursday now), but I was over the moon with the nice comments I received!!  
> Shout out to MostTulip and room106, who gave me very nice comments and improvements I should make.  
> FIRST STORY TO THE WORLD AND I GOT OVER 10 READS!!  
> So, guys...
> 
> enjoy.

‘This is wrong’, she thought. ‘ese people are innocent, what gives us the right to do take em?’ Her arrow went through a man’s back. ‘Funny’, she thought, ‘ow it’s so much easier to take a life than to give it’. A man made to kill Van. She drew an arrow from her quiver and lined the dent up with the string. She pulled back and breathed in, and released.   
The arrow went through his neck. Val slashed at another’s neck, killing him instantly. She didn’t even notice the man who almost killed her. ‘Idiot’, she thought, ‘girl as pretty as her shouldn’t be out ‘ere, killin’ ‘em all off. She’s too pretty, she is’. 

“YGRITTE!!” Tormund yelled across the screams of the battle field, but you could easily hear his deep, loud voice over the clash of swords. “TAKE THAT TENT!!”  
She started towards the tent he pointed to. It was small, one of the smallest ones there, and she was starting to feel insulted.

Ygritte heard a wild roar, screaming through her ears. She turned around and fired an arrow through the man’s neck. How any man could manage a sound like that was something like no other world, but she thought nothing of it as she burst into the tent. She heard the familiar sound of a sword cutting through the air like paper, and she could feel the gentle breath it made. 

It’s funny, how when you’re put into that situation where you have to survive, that a whole other part of you takes over. That part of you that’ll do anything to live. So, she wasn’t thinking when she killed him, she just reacted to the situation. She wasn’t thinking when she stabbed the man’s face with an arrow. She didn’t think about his family or the blood that covered her. She didn’t notice the tiny girl in the corner who was screaming and holding her eyes in her hands.

It was the first time she’d ever felt guilt for killing someone.

Ygritte approached the young girl, and the girl gasped and tried to move back from her, but soon she reached the side of the tent and she was completely at Ygritte’s mercy.  
‘It would be so easy’, Ygritte thought, ‘jus’ to kill ‘er right now. Save ‘er the pain’, but again, for the first time, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Ygritte lowered her bow and put her finger to her lips. She grabbed the girl and ran through the battle to the edge of the clearing, where she left the girl, then turned around to the burning tents.

She didn’t look back into her young accusing eyes.

 

When Mance heard, he was furious. The stress of war had taken its toll on him, she noted, as she saw the shadows under his eyes, and his once raven-coloured hair now held brilliant streaks of grey and white, and for the first time, Mance Reyder truly looked… well, old. He had been going on for nearly 10 minutes now, and she really had things to do, places to be. She didn’t have time for Mance and his shit.

“You are completely out of hand, girl!! You let one of the people go, you won’t kill a young girl and you were later seen refusing to fight!! You have t’ change, girl, and fast, because there’s talk ‘round here, and I’m not sure who’s side you’re actually on.” Ygritte stopped looking at the fire and stared him in the face. He had never questioned her loyalty. EVER. She was born and raised a wildling, and one of Mance’s most trusted allies. Or was, now, really.

“What did you say?” Her voice shook with anger.

“You heard me, girl. You were one of my best until that crow came ‘round. You could never leave his side. Always with him no matter what, and after he left, you still wouldn’t let him go!!” Mance stood up. Though he looked aged, he was still tall, and he easily over towered her. Ygritte stood up looked him right in his eyes.

“Jon Snow was an ‘onrable man. More than you’ll ever be! You’ve changed, Mance. You used t’ care for us, your people, but look at you now!! You’re consumed by your need for revenge! Revenge against the night’s watch for abandoning you!! It’s pathetic! You’re like a baby throwing a tantrum at ‘is brother who took your toy!! It’s PATHETIC!!”

“Take care for what you speak, Ygritte, or I’ll have you hanging by your ears over the fire. I’ll even sent your burnt hair to your crow, and he’ll scream, and you’ll be alive just long enough to see your arrow go through his throat!!”

“FUCK YOU!!”

The slap seemed to echo across the whole camp. She could no longer hear the people outside the tent, the giant’s footsteps shaking the ground. All she could hear was the slap, ringing on and on in her ears. She didn’t need to raise her hand to her cheek to feel that it was hot. She could practically feel the welt starting to form. She hated to admit it, but he hit HARD. Harder than she’d ever been hit by one of her own. She stood up straight and looked him in the face again. She could feel herself shaking with such anger. An anger that shook her whole body, and she let it wash over her.

Mance called a man in. She didn’t catch his name, as she wasn’t listening. She just continued to look into his face, the face that she once worshipped, would’ve done anything for. She heard him order the man to take her away, but before he could, she spat at him in the face. Fury like none she’d ever seen before passed across his features, as he once again slapped her face, but she was prepared this time. It didn’t hurt as much as it should’ve. She felt such a boiling heat, such an uncontrollable rage. She loved it. 

She was taken away, back to a tent they kept for people who caused trouble. The tent where you would sit and wait for your inevitable death. 

The man who tried to lead her away had a snapped neck, and another who saw was out cold on the felt rug. She looked for her bow and quiver, but couldn’t find it, and came to the conclusion that Mance had given it to Tormund, and she really didn’t want to die tonight. So, she grabbed the first bow and quiver she came across, and ran. She ran faster than she had ever known she could, and by breaking light she could see the wall.

“Hold on, Jon Snow,” she said aloud. “I’m coming for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little tricky... I'm not sure I got Ygritte's character right, but I want to slowly develop her, to show how her grief and relief change her.  
> Thank you to all the people who read my stuff, I'm going to begin writing the next chapter in about two days, because I really need a sleep break. My school just got out and I'm just so TIRED! So expect the next chapter in about 4-5 days, 6 at the most.  
> ALSO!!  
> I really don't want to start writing a Robb POV yet, because he only really comes in when some stuff happens later, but maybe I should do one chapter on what he was doing before he goes after Jon.  
> I dunno. What do you guys think?
> 
> Stay classy, Humans.
> 
> -A person who has serous issues with being a ginger and a shark lover.


	3. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death is certain, so fulfilling, and you know that you can never be hurt again. But pain, pain is a state of mind. Your mind's way of telling you to “stop the hot poker the crazy bitch is sticking into your back”, because FUCK that hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this isn't the longest I've done, but I'll make it up to you and post another tomorrow!!

To kill a man takes a lot of guts. Killing is final, you can always be sure that it will lead you to death, and after you reach death, well, we all know what happens. Death is so final, so sure. You can always be sure that it’ll keep the pain away, so nothing can ever hurt you again. But pain, however, pain is a state of mind. Our body’s way of telling us “put down the glass”, “stop putting pressure on that” and “stop the hot poker the crazy bitch is sticking into your back”, because FUCK that hurts. 

I suppose to truly know pain isn’t a good thing, you just wish that the pain will stop, but it never does and it keeps on coming and coming and coming.  
There are different types of pain, of course. Physical pain was something he was well familiar with, by now. His nose was broken, his eye was swollen and there were so many cuts. Some from Winterfell, some from the Wall, some from his time with the wildlings…

And some from the crazy bitch who just wouldn’t let up.

He thought after a week of this, he would truly know pain, but no. The Gods just wouldn’t let him get off that easily. He’d broken bones before, been cut by knifes before. He hadn’t been whipped though, hadn’t experienced the pain of having his back torn open, again and again and again. 

He had been shot by arrows, too. They hurt like a bitch. But they didn’t shoot him. No, they shot him with crossbows, and that was a whole other kind of pain, and they didn’t take them out either. They just left them in him. Some fell out, after enough clenching, others they took out, but they wouldn’t be gone long, and some got infected, and he welcomed it. He welcomed death with opened arms, but she would always draw him back, back into the cruel harsh reality if the world.

She played with him. Teasing him. She would wave the knife in front of his face, before she would take it down lower and etch pretty drawings into his skin. They were never that deep, but she would take her time. Slowly splitting his skin, tracing the blood that always fell thick. She would put the hot poker just near his skin, so he could feel the heat radiated off it, before she would drive it into his side. Being burnt and branded hurts, you can smell your own skin burning and the sound sizzling skin, but it’s nothing compared to being stabbed with a blunt iron hot knife. You could feel the hot metal burning your skin, slowly making its way through all the layers of it, you can feel it burning your insides, and it’s like no other pain you can imagine. It slowly twists around and you can feel your own muscles burning, melting, and she leaves it there and the muscles eventually build themselves around it, and then she grabs the hilt and slowly, agonizingly, pulls it out, and you’re sure that you’ll never escape this hell.

The only relief you can get is the knowledge that your time will eventually come, that you will die eventually, because no one lives forever. It’s the only relief that you can get in the times that you’re being whipped, skinned, burnt, cut and broken.

Jon looked up when he heard the door being opened, and the soft patter of bare feet. His eyes hadn't seen the light in nearly two months, and once his eyes adjusted, he was extremely startled to see her, and she was as naked as the day she’d been born. She walked up to him, her breasts poking out and soon were pressing against his bleeding chest.

“What’re you doing?” his voice shook, showing how truly afraid he was, but she smiled, all perfect white teeth, contrasting against her red lips. Blood, he noticed, they’re covered in blood. 

“Showing you the true meaning of pain” she replied almost sweetly.

It was like no other pain, it was guilt and shame, coming from the basis that he actually liked it. It just felt so good, but that was what it was meant to do, it was meant to break you, slowly and surly as her tongue licked the blood off his chest, it was all just painful, and it was entirely psychological. Pain, he thought, wasn't about being broken physically, it was all mental. That was the part that broke you.

And so the next time he heard the door open, he held his head high.

They would NEVER break him.

Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... didn't really know how to do this one.  
> I think we'll leave Jon for about two to three chapters, and focus on Melisandre, Robb and Ygritte. Please leave ideas for me in the comments!! If I reach five in this chapter, I'll give you a sneak as to what's to come in the later chapters between Jon and Ygritte.
> 
> From a crazy girl who has WAY too much time on her hands.


	4. Robb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark wings, dark words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.  
> I know, I know, I said that this would be out way before now, but I had another idea, and I had to write this one instead.
> 
> WARNING.  
> Sex, but nothing to graphic.

Killing isn’t what you think it’s like. Most people portray it as hard, difficult or even impossible. 

Well, it’s not.

It’s actually relatively easy, assuming you aren’t fighting with your fists.

Take a crossbow, for example. You pull a trigger over here, and they die over there. Or a sword, just a thrust through his heart or swung at his neck, and he’s dead. Just dead.  
Simple really. Like killing an animal, you just need to have the heart to do it. Same theory, but totally different outcome.

You never stop seeing their faces; they just come out of nowhere. Sometimes they go away for a while, but not forever. They always keep coming back. 

But sometimes he doesn’t have a choice; it’s either kill the man, or lose all control over his people. And so, the old man is lead out into the rain, his head placed on the chopping block. Robb listens to his last words, and puts the sword through his neck, chopping his head clean off. 

And then it’s all just red.

 

Talisa listens to him, gives him advices, always says what’s right and what’s wrong, but she’s fair, and to Robb, there has never lived a kinder or smarter woman.  
Today isn’t different than any other. He still has the man’s blood on his shoes and his hands. He closes his eyes and he sees the man’s cold grey eyes staring back. And it’s killing him, because you don’t just kill a man and not lose a part of yourself, no matter what. It can be delayed, but it’ll always come back to haunt you.

He hears footsteps coming towards him, and arms snaking around his back. He breathes her in and just let’s himself forget for once.

She takes off his shoes, washes his hands, and dries his hair, just like his mother would before she came into his life. And he closes his eyes, and he sees the man’s face, and just as quickly he opens them again, and he doesn’t see any face but hers. Her sweet, beautiful face. 

She must’ve known what he saw, because she strokes his hair, palms his cheek, and pulls him in and kisses him, and for once, he lets himself forget that everything bad ever happened.

It isn’t like their other times. They were fast and desperate, like they were clinging onto each other, scared that they’ll disappear, or that someone will take them the next day. No, this isn’t like that. This is patient, gentle and careful, and he can’t get enough of it.

They slowly take each other’s clothes off, and they don’t think about anything but them. All Robb can see is her, Talisa, his wife. He takes her face is his hands, and kisses her, slowly, with patience and care. He caresses her breast, traces his hand over the hollow of her neck and the curve of her body. Her skin is flawless and smooth. He kisses each of her breasts and the dip in between them, and he doesn’t enter her for at least another hour, because they have all the time they need, and they can forget what’s going on outside and just be. Just be alive, in each other. And when he does enter, he enters slowly, with grace and care. She arches her back and he runs his hand along her spine. She whispered sweet things in his ear, and when her moment of pleasure came, it was unlike all her others. She could think and enjoy it without fear that Robb would be called away from her. And when his came, he whispered her name, and they collapsed on top of each other. And after, they just lay there, looking into each other’s eyes, and he leans in and slowly kisses her sweet lips. 

There had never been anything so sweet.

 

Dark wings, dark words.

It fits a raven, they never carried any good news. He had grown to detest them. They brought him no news he would ever want to hear. First of his father’s beheading and his sisters being held captive at King’s landing. Then it was the burning of Winterfell and the death of his two brothers, with the betrayal of Theon that caused it. It was addressed to him, but he left the bird in the hands of his uncle, and when his uncle had finished, he came out grim.

Robb’s mother was beside him and Talisa on his right. His uncle began to speak, taking care with his words.

“Your grace… it’s about your brother.” Catelyn looked up. 

“Which one?” She demanded, “Bran or Rickon? Don’t just stand there, tell me!” His uncle bit his lip.

“Neither, sweet sister, it was about… Jon Snow, Robb’s baseborn brother.” That sobered Catelyn up just as soon as she’d started up. “Oh”, was all she said, and a look was plastered on her face as had always been when the bastard came up in conversation. It was like someone had put a rotting fish under her nose.

“What did it say?” Robb demanded, starting to get worried.

Dark wings, dark words.

“Was it from the watch?” Talisa stepped towards him, ready to stop him if necessary. 

“No, your grace, it was from the red woman. She… she says if you want him back, you have to give her what is rightfully hers.”

Dark wings, dark words.

Talisa moved forward to stop Robb from doing something stupid, but she was too late. Robb picked up the closest valuable thing neared to him (a cup of wine), and threw it across the room. Catelyn stood by, looking solemn, which was much better than her previous face. He cried out in anger and fell to his knees. Talisa knelt by his side, and took his face in her hands. She looked into his eyes as she started to talk.

“Robb. Robb! Look at me, Robb. We’ll find him, don’t worry. We’ll find him and we’ll take him home.” She took him in her arms and caressed his hair. Robb had tears running down his face and his mother was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m going to find him.” Robb’s voice shook as he spoke. “I’m going to find him, and I’m going to bring him home.”

He looked into his wife’s eye.

“And then I’ll kill them all.” She looked back at him, before cradling his head again.

Dark wings, dark words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chappy out next week, and it's going to be Ygrittes.
> 
> BUT I NEED IDEAS!!  
> I have characters POVs I need to do, but I'm not sure in which order. Here are the characters:  
> Arya, Davos and Stannis.  
> Also, I'm not entirely sure, but my friend wants me to add more characters. What she said was:  
> Sansa, Tyrion and Podrick.  
> Okay, I did the last one. BUT I LIKE WRITING HIM!!!
> 
> YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!
> 
> Aussie word off the top of my head: Fair dinkum ----- meaning: fair or true.
> 
> BYE BYE!!!!


	5. Ygritte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “OPEN THE GATE!” Ygritte strained her neck to see who had spoken. He was fat, but his face was cute. He looked like had a good heart. Sam, she thought, he must be Sam.
> 
> “We got orders, Tully, now go back-” once again he was cut off by Sam.
> 
> “Open the fucking gate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLA HOLA HOLA!!!!   
> I gotta new game today and to celebrate I wrote another chappy!!!
> 
> Enjoy.

She stood, looking at the great wall in all its glory, standing at around 700ft high, if Jon was correct. He said that a wall is only a good at protecting people as the people who man it are. It was something his lord father had told him. But his father was wrong. The wall didn’t need people to protect it. It protected itself. She found that out soon enough when she climbed the wall with Jon and it took down more than half of her people. Although, she guessed, they weren’t her people no more.

Looking at the wall brought up unwanted memories and feelings. Feelings of terror as she fell from the wall. Floating through the air. It was beautiful as it was terrifying. Then feeling the pull of the rope around her, and the relief that today wasn’t the day the gods would claim her. Grabbing his hand, feeling him pull her so close to him she could hardly breathe, but that wasn’t enough, so she clung on tighter. And the feeling of love when she kissed him, holding him, looking at his beautiful face. No-one but them. Him and her.   
Her and him.

Now, here she was, trying to find her way back to him, even after she put three arrows through him. Now all she had to do was get over the wall, which wasn’t so appealing.   
She couldn’t climb it, not by herself, it would be suicide. Only a fool would dare try. That left her only option. 

Castle black. 

 

She couldn’t sneak in, someone would find her. She wouldn’t even be able to get through the gates. The gate stood strong and proud, and were manned at all times. It would require strength that she didn’t possess to take down. She supposed she could get a giant to do it, but she didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms. She couldn’t do it. Not by herself at least. The wildlings follow Mance, and he had banished her. Tormund hated Jon, and by now her too for deserting them for a crow. Her mind automatically flew to Orell, and she nearly scoffed at the thought. He wouldn’t help a ‘crow wife’, and even if he weren’t butchered by Jon, he’d be a jealous, prissy little bitch about it all.

She urged herself to think harder. Jon had told her many stories; surely one would help her now. She needed names. And then she remembered him telling her about his friends. Sam, she thought it was. He was the fat one, but he had a sweet face, he would be recognisable enough. 

Grenn, according to Jon, looked like a cleaner version of Tormund, and Pyp could always be found around him. Surely they ought to have a shift at guarding the gates, she just had to wait.

As it turns out, she was right, but not in the sense that she thought. She found a girl, with a babe at her breast. She was hungry and she needed help. Ygritte drew her aside, and she gasped, not seeing the red-head. She started pleading for her babe’s life. Ygritte eventually got her to calm down.

“Shhhh, shshsh, it’s alright, I’m not gunna hurt ya. What’s your name? What’re you doing out here?”

The woman took a while to talk. She was clutching onto her babe, shielding it with her body. She warmed up eventually though, after Ygritte told the girl her own name.

“M-my name’s Gilly. I-I need to get t-to castle b-b-black.” Gilly was freezing, the cold had started to get to her.

“He’s a lovely babe,” gesturing to the bundle at her breast, “Castle black, you say? Well, perhaps we can help each other out.”

They approached the gates together, Gilly had lent her one of her cloaks to hide her deer skin. There were guards at the gate, and none of them fit Jon’s description in his stories. She didn’t talk, however, Gilly did.

“Please, you have to open the gate.”

“Fuck off, salvage. We don’t open to wildlings, do we? Nah, we just butcher them up and leave em to the gods.”

“Please,” she tried again, “we’re not salvages, just please, we’re going to die!”

“I already told ya. We got orders. We don’t open the gate to no-one!”

“But my baby, he’ll-”

“I don’t give two shits about that little shit.”

“Please!!”

“Did I not-”

“OPEN THE GATE!” Ygritte strained her neck to see who had spoken. He was fat, but his face was cute. He looked like had a good heart. Sam, she thought, he must be Sam.

“We got orders, Tully, now go back-” once again he was cut off by Sam.

“Open the fucking gate.”

And that was how she got into Castle Black without skewering someone with an arrow.

 

Turns out, Sam had heard about her too. After his joyous reuniting with Gilly, after she had eaten his face off in front of her, he noticed there was someone else in the room. He gave her a smile and offered Ygritte his hand.

“I’m Samwell Tully, and I already know who you are Ygritte. I’ve been expecting you.”

He lead her up to his quarters, where she met two other young men who must’ve been Grenn and Pyp. She almost fainted at how much Grenn looked like Tormund. Like a cleaner, more civilised version of him. And Pyp, honestly, just looked like a hare. 

“Sorry for the trouble at the gate,” Pyp said, “but security’s been tight lately.”

“I’m not here looking for pleasantries,” she spat, “I’m looking for Jon Snow. He was a crow, was he not? Where is he?”

Grenn smirked at her, “you can see why he likes her,” he spoke. But he soon grew grim, and his voice took a sad tone to it. 

“He was sent away to look at something or whatever, see if it was a threat to the wall. He… he never came back.”

Ygritte was still. She couldn’t fell anything, but then she started shaking. She felt her anger at Mance return, only amplified by ten. She grabbed Grenn by his collar and pulled him towards her.

“Where. Is. Jon. Snow.?”  
He didn’t look scared. He just looked at her in pity.  
“No-one knows.”

She cried out in anger and sadness and she fell to the floor. She felt a chubby hand on her shoulder. She heard them speaking, but didn’t try to make out what it was.

She just lay on the floor.

 

And cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so my friends said that combined I did in fact get 5 comments, so here's the next three chappys. Not spoiled, just an insight. I'll do and Ygritte x Jon next.
> 
> NEXT CHAPPY  
> Arya's POV, she needs to find someone dear to her
> 
> OVER CHAPPY  
> Ygritte's POV, she joins with a very dear friend of Jon's, and runs into some trouble.
> 
> OVER OVER CHAPPY  
> Jon's POV, he gets a new cellmate.
> 
>  
> 
> So...? Who do you think Ygritte joins up with?? I think it's pretty cool.
> 
> Till next time MATIES!!!
> 
> -*********


	6. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya didn't mean to lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's crack-a-lackin, homies?
> 
> I've been in hospital for about two weeks, not very pleasant. 
> 
> I plan on releasing a rather short one-shot either tonight or tomorrow, so just watch out for that. 
> 
>  
> 
> ON WITH IT!!!!
> 
> (I do not own GOT, all rights reserved, blah blah blah, you know the rest)

She didn’t know why it was him that caught her eye. She would’ve totally overlooked him, actually. Sure, his hair was as black as charcoal and his arms were tanned from the sun and muscled. But he really could have been anyone. There was almost no chance that it was him, the man she’d been looking for. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, either. She was buying lunch, minding her own business, as she always did. She woke up in the morning, walked out of the inn without a word to anyone, and went to the market. It was as if the gods were mocking her, shoving the fact in her face that she couldn’t find him. That she had failed him. 

She would’ve just kept on walking, if the man hadn’t lifted his head right at that moment. She gasped and bumped into the person in front, and the person behind her knocked her over. But in her state of shock, she lost him. Again.

“Watch where you’re going, boy!”

She didn’t acknowledge him. She remembered the man’s face, and the one name was on her mind, and rolling off her tongue. 

“Gendry.”

 

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID!” looking away was her mistake. She sight of him. She was certain her mind was playing tricks on her, but she’d also been so sure it was him. How long had he been here? Was he in front of her the whole time?

“Stupid fucking son of a WHORE!! FUCKING BULL!!” people were staring at her now. But for once, she wanted to be seen, wanted to scream and shout and cry to the world and the gods that it just isn’t fair. That it isn’t fair that they torment her that she loses him again and again and again. She went back to the place where she saw him, but it was useless. All evidence that anyone had ever been there was gone. So she went back to being nobody.

Just like that.

It was a total coincidence, but for once, it was a happy one for a change. It started when she saw northmen. They had the traditional snow-white skin and black hair. Then it was the banners, and the talk around her. There were rumours that a nothmen was travelling to the wall. She sat back in her chair, and listened to the conversations around her.

“Why should the king care about the bastard anyway? He was never as strict as today. He threatened to kill the man who said that the Snow was worth nothing.”

Snow.

“He’s freaked out, that’s why. The red-haired bitch sent him another raven, and the letter was covered in blood.”

“Well, he better get his shit together, because he’s letting his emotions carry him. What could she want with a bastard anyway?”

Snow.

“Well, all I know is that after this is all over, I’m heading back to Winterfell, and maybe Lord Robb will let us stay in peace.” She jumped up from her seat.

“Robb? Where is he?” The two men looked at her.

“Look here, boy. Lord Robb doesn’t have time for the lowly likes of you, so why don’t you fuck off.”

“PLEASE! He’s my brother! Just ask him! Please, just let me see him!” One man unsheathed his sword.

“Look, filth. He doesn’t have time for you, so back off you cunt, before I-”

“Arya?”

“Mother.”

She had never felt so much relief, she found her family, and for once, she didn’t have to pretend to be happy. She wasn’t Arry, she wasn’t nobody or anybody anyone ever wanted her to be. She was Arya. Just Arya.

She was tired, coming all this way, but her mother and brother made it worth all the trouble, and for a moment, she let herself forget about Gendry, about Hot-pie and Sandor…   
Her mother was crying, holding her and rocking her back and forth as if she were five again. Her mother washed her and wouldn’t stop saying her name. Her face was red and swollen from tears, and Arya’s was dirty and black.

She almost forgot what she looked like. After her bath, her mother brushed her short hair and gave her clean clothes, and then took her to see Robb.  
“ARYA!” Her brother ran to her and held to her so tight she could feel the air being squeezed out of tiny, too-skinny body. 

“Oh, Arya. Where in seven hells have you been?”

“It is a very long story.” Robb just smiled at her and lead her over to a foreign-looking woman. She was very pretty, compared too little horse-faced Arya. 

“Arya, I would like to introduce my wife, Talisa.” The woman smiled at her and bent down to Arya’s level. She looked at her and Arya noticed that this woman, however she may look, was not frail and weak, but strong. It was an admiration for this woman who had captured her brother’s heart. Robb had done well.

“Hello Arya,” Talisa’s voice was sweet, but carried a sharp edge to it, “Robb has told me so much about you. I hope we can become sisters.” Her smile was captivating and beautiful, and Arya couldn’t help but return it. 

“My brother is lucky to have a woman like you.” And if possible, her smile became even more radiant.

“Thank you, lovely. You’re so beautiful, just look at you! You have to be one of the prettiest girls I have ever seen.” She was toying with Arya now; she obviously had never seen Sansa. 

As if Talisa could feel her doubt, she cupped Arya’s cheek and spoke gently to her.

“True beauty is one you have, sweet. It is a gift.” She rose and left Arya dumbfounded. A man entered the tent. He bowed to Arya, her mother, Robb and his wife. 

“My lord, my ladies, another raven has arrived, it says that you will turn away from the north, or blood will be shed.” Robb’s smile immediately turned sour. Arya’s mother’s look turned blank, and Talisa moved to her husand’s side.

“Arya,” he spoke, “I will talk to you later, I have urgent matters now that need my focus.” But Arya was done being in the dark. 

“What’s happening? Why are you going south if you’re trying to take down the Lannisters?”

“We are going to eradicate whatever Bolton and Frey and Lannister forces we find there. We need to send them a message.” Any other time and Arya would’ve taken it. But she was through hearing lies.

“Bullshit.”

“Arya Stark!” Her mother started to scold her, but she cut her off.

“Why are you going north, huh? What does this red-head have that’s so important to you? Who does she have? Who is this basta- oh gods.”

Snow. 

Robb was silent, his hand gripping his goblet do hard his knuckles were turning white. Her mother’s look was blank, and betrayed no emotion. Talisa’s hand was on Robb’s shoulder and she gave Arya a sad smile.

“No. Please, just tell me it’s not true.”

Snow.

“Arya-” 

“PLEASE!!”

Snow.

Robb just looked at her.

“Oh gods, Jon…”

Snow.

Jon Snow.

Bastard of the north.

“I’m going with you,” she said, totally serious and not allowing it to happen any other way.

“Arya-” her mother started.

“No.”

The snow fell that night, soft and gentle and white, filled with longing and sadness. No sound, just the frozen tears of the gods, weeping for the great man, Snow.

 

Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?
> 
> I'll update again sooooooooon.
> 
> Leave ideas n' stuff, I'll give ma fav a shout-out next time.
> 
> Next time:  
> WATCH OUT, MELISANDRA!! WE HAVE SOME YGRITTE COMIN TO SAVE HER MAN!!!!!!!!


	7. Ygritte II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She isn't alone, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special treat,   
> new chapter today and maybe tomorrow!!
> 
> ON WITH IT!!!

She had been naked in the snow, before. It did hurt like no fucking other thing, but when it came down to it, the snow wasn’t so cold. So why was she so cold now?   
Fuck, she must’ve looked pathetic. There’s a blizzard, her hair was in her eyes and everywhere, she was freezing to death and she had icicles forming on her nose. 

‘You better be thankful, Snow. This is what I get f’ caring ‘bout someone.’

She had to stop and rest, get away from the wall. Gods above, why had she been so stupid? They all offered her food and warmth, but no; she had to be the stupid, stubborn woman she always was. She could’ve at least stolen a horse, but no; she didn’t want to risk being caught and have all this for none. When had she become so bloody careful?

Ygritte eventually found a nice place to settle down from the storm. It was much warmer once she was able to start a fire. She found herself hypnotized by the flickering flame, just watching it until her eyes started to blur and she was lost in her thoughts.

Yet she couldn’t shake this feeling that she wasn't alone. It wasn’t noticeable at first, but it came, gnawing at her until she grabbed her arrow and bow, spun around and saw…  
Nothing.

So she turned around and watched the flame, until she heard footsteps so silent they shamed a mouse. She didn’t grab her bow, though. She just carefully turned around and saw the white wolf.

“Ghost?” 

 

She had only seen the beast when Jon had him at the wildling camp, but the wolf disappeared after a moon, and Jon didn’t talk about it. No, not a wolf, a direwolf.   
The direwolf was like she remembered. He was a magnificent beast; huge and silent and white. It hardly made a sound. It was loyal to Jon, bound to him like none she’d ever seen. He could find Jon. That must’ve been why he hadn’t ripped her throat out yet.

“Ghost,” she breathed out and fell into the wolf, burying her face and hands in the thick, warm fur of the direwolf. She pulled back and looked into his red eyes. Ghost licked her lightly on the cheek. He must’ve recognised her.

She turned back around to the fire. Her eyelids were heavy now, and her head ached. She let sleep claim her as Jon’s direwolf curled up beside her and placed his head on her lap, watching, keeping vigilant. It felt like, just for a while, that Jon was with her himself, and she allowed herself to believe that just for one night.  
“Jon.”

 

Come the break of daylight and she was off, Ghost by her side. He didn’t stray, didn’t make a sound, but she had come across a problem. She hadn’t really planned where to go. In her adrenaline-filled state, walking off to find Jon seemed like a good idea, but now her mind wasn’t filled up with fog. She realised that she wouldn’t just stumble across him so instantly, that she wouldn’t be so blindly stupid that she couldn’t find a plan. Ghost… he never left Jon’s side, so surely he would know where to find him! But how do you talk to a direwolf?

That was when Ghost started whining, and suddenly he bolted off.

“GHOST!” 

She couldn’t lose her one chance at finding Jon. She ran after him, but the beast was by far the fastest of both of them.

“GHOST! COME BACK!!”

The direwolf stopped ahead of her, and by the time she reached the wolf, she was about ready to collapse from exhaustion. The beast whined and started to move forward, silent as ever. In fact, the wining was the loudest sound she’d ever heard from the wolf. He was tense and was staring at something, but his teeth were not bared.

“Ghost?”

Then she saw it. It was a woman. A woman with red hair.

She drew an arrow from her pack, and loaded it into her bow, and ever so quietly raised the bow. She did what she’d done a billion times before.

She moved slowly, as to not warn the woman that she was here. Ygritte made no sound as she straightened her back. She moved the bow from its rest position from the ground to her attack position. She watched the woman turn and her breath caught in her throat. Ygritte didn’t move, she just kneeled in the bush, waiting for her prey to turn away from her.

She pulled the arrow taught. 

Inhale.

You have one shot at this, Ygritte.

All you have to do is breath and shoot.

“Lady Stark?” A man’s voice called from the distance, and the woman turned around to leave.

Exhale.

 

Shoot the fucking arrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She may or may not kill Catelyn Fucking Stark.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> Thank you all so much for commenting, I've been so sick lately, and it really makes me happy to know that people take time to read my shitty fucked-up stories. 
> 
> I'm thinking of starting a new one. I need ideas, though.  
> SO:
> 
> Dark Sansa / Ramsay  
> (I've seen this done before, and I like the idea, it will end with death, though)  
> Jon stays with the wildlings   
> (It's also been done before, but I have a pretty different take on it.)  
> PODRICK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> I'm also writing a three-shot:  
> Hunger Games: Westeros style.
> 
> So, read and comment, and I will see you on the other side.  
> (Not that name, though.)


	8. Jon Snow III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> Torture like in the third chappy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been skiing at a place with no wifi whatsoever, but that actually turned out to be good, because now I have the next two chappys finished.
> 
> Insert legal shit here
> 
> HIGH HO SILVER!! AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!

He knew only pain, now. Just the endless, relentless pain, day after day after day. His skin was so scarred you couldn’t tell where one cut started and another ended. It was just a pattern of swirls and lines and reminders that would never go away. Is this what a bastard gets? His voice had left him on the third day, his endless screams soon turned to horse yelps. Now it’s just breath; no noise can get out. It wasn’t likely that he would ever be able to talk again. 

He couldn’t cry, now. He didn’t know how to anymore. They all dried up, just leaving them to feel the pain in his chest, bursting to get out somehow. All that was left of his pain was his sharp and ragged breaths. Over and over again.

There was no sobbing at night, no screams, no desperate clawing; just silence. An endless, maddening silence that makes Jon want to scream and yell and scratch his cheeks and bite and just make noise to stop the endless fucking silence. 

One day she came in, and again, just pain that he couldn’t let out, and it was just red. 

Fucking red. Red, red, red, red, red. She was red, he was red, and the world was just turning red. It was maddening. He can see the red knife she’s waving in front of his face, with her red-painted nails. Then she drives it into his side and again, its pain and red. 

He sees her red figure glide across the floor as if on wheels, not walking, and she picks up the hot poker, and it’s red.

She waves the red iron in front of his face, and he can smell the smoke. She turns him around and presses it to his back. His eyes see nothing but red, and he can smell his skin sizzling and burning, and he just wants to scream.

The world is nothing but red, cruel place for Jon; it always had been. 

The hot poker strikes him again, and the world is red. She brings it away and he crumples forward, would’ve fell to his knees if the chains had let him. His feet are blistered and swollen and red. His wrists had red markings and blood where the metal of the cuffs relentlessly cut into his skin. 

Then the red is back and it’s just red and red and red.

Then nothing.

Just black.

 

Jon preferred a black world to a red one. It was a much nicer colour than red. Although, black isn’t a colour, is it?  
But his sense of smell and hearing heighten, and he sometimes wishes he can go back to red than hear her talk louder than ever. It makes you want to smash things and break things until your arms can’t move.

He hears them coming now.

But this time, he doesn’t see red.

Just black.

But the pain is still there.

The footsteps come, but they are different. There aren’t the light, elegant footsteps of the red bitch, but there’s still the heavy sound of metal against the ground. At least there’s some familiarity in this place.

But they’re dragging something heavy, and from the rustle of cloth on the stone floor, it would seem to be a person.

Not three seconds later, and he hears the rustling of keys from the left guard’s belt. The key goes into the lock, and it will take him a few tries to unlock it; it’s a heavy lock. It only took him two tries. They throw the person into his cell, and he hears groaning and Jon knows that it is a man, and that man was awake. 

“Cheer up, Snow. You’ve gotta new person to talk to. If only you could talk. HA!”

The two guards laughed and left the room. They shut the heavy metal door and locked the heavy metal lock. He was trapped again, but he was not alone.

The man pulled himself into a sitting position, and got a good look at Jon. He was bloody and a wreck, and you couldn’t tell whether the scars on his back were lines or curves, artwork or random. Jon’s black hair reached his neck, and was tangled and scraggy. The man knew if he put his hand thorough it, it would feel like straw.

The newcomer spoke up, “so, how’d you get in this mess, huh?”

Jon just looked in his general direction. His border-line black eyes looking, but not seeing. There was a silence for a while, and Jon just kept his eyes in the direction of the man.

“Not much of a talker, eh? Suppose I couldn’t ask for much more, though. I was napped in the middle of a market. Never saw ‘em coming. I swear I was being careful. I just… got distracted.”

Jon just looked at the black. The awkward silence was back. Oh, how Jon wished he could talk. Just make this stranger talk and never stop, to talk him back to sanity, to drive him away from the darkness that consumed him. Jon assumed that the stranger was looking at him and make a motion with his hand for the other man to carry on talking.

“I’m not much, really. My mother had beautiful golden hair. I never knew my father, though. But I knew my parents weren’t married from a very young age, and I knew what that meant. It’s hard work, finding a job for a bastard with nothing. I was luck, though. My uncle knew a man who was a blacksmith, needed an apprentice. I was always strong, so I took it. I was good at it too. But still, it’s hard being a bastard.”

This man was like him! This man understood the pain of knowing that they’ll never have a proper future, never live in castles or manors or be rich. That they were doomed from the start. 

He started wheezing, and the man quickly came up to Jon, thinking he couldn’t breathe. If he just tried, pushed a little harder, he could just make a sound. It was croaky and rough and any other time and he’d just stop trying. But he needed to speak to this man.

“My name-” he was cut off by a coughing fit. The man’s hand gripped his shoulders, ready to help him if he needed it.

“My name is Jon Snow,” were the first words he spoke in over a moon.

Even though Jon couldn’t see it, the other man smiled, realising that Jon was like him.

“My name is Gendry Waters.”

Two bastards. 

Always alone.

 

She came in the night. His voice was strained and was lost after two sentences. He couldn’t tell Gendry much, but Gendry already knew he was from the North. He looked the part and was named the part. Jon couldn’t help but wonder what Gendry looked like.

He was asleep; he didn’t hear her. She grabbed his arm and dragged him with such strength to the chains. His face was towards the wall, his back towards her. She whipped him again and again, and he could feel the pain in his chest. It was exploding, and FUCK it hurt! It felt like she had whipped a hole through his skin. There was just the hurt, over and over again.

And then nothing.

He couldn’t feel the pain anymore.

Jon was just numb, and he liked it.

He heard the whip fly through the air, the crack of the tip and the sharp slap against his skin, but still; he felt no pain. She couldn’t hurt him no more.

And the he laughed.  
An honest to the gods laugh.

She cried out in anger and whipped him again and again, with each time the end came in contact with his skin, the harder he laughed. It was a wheeze at first, but eventually he found his voice.

The laughter could be heard throughout the keep.

Going on and on and on.

 

"Just shut the fuck up!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a weird way to end it, but it'll make more sense later. I tried to write Jon going insane. Not sure if it worked out, give me tips on how to make Jon sound more insane.  
> I had a weird obsession with the colour red the day I wrote this. It's kinda weird. And creepy.   
> Next update comes on Friday. 
> 
>  
> 
> Up next: Sansa. I've figured out how to add her into my story.  
> Over chappy: We finally see what happened to Catelyn  
> Over over chappy: Stannis arrives, and so does Davos.

**Author's Note:**

> So... how'dja like it!? I average about one microsoft word page per chapter, so I'll usually write about 1000 - 2000 words. I don't accept anything less than 1000, and if I'm feeling nice, sometimes i can reach 5000. Not so sure about that yet though.  
> Maybe if this turns out to be really big.  
> I'm also putting this story up on Fanfiction.com, if you use that sight, please check me out, this'll also be my fist story on the sight, because I wanna share it with the WORLD!!!  
> So my pen name is: TheGinjaNinja  
> Also, please forgive my spelling, but I'm from Australia, so in the US, you spell color, and we spell colour.  
> So yeah. Any confusions, corrections or questions, ask away, I don't care for hate, because if you hate it, fuck off and don't come back. Also, my chapter titles show the POV of the character.  
> I'll update in about a week's time. School ends on Friday, and so then I'm FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> -The shark of ginger


End file.
